Vision of the Heart

I saw a dark, poorly-lit room with a cracked cement floor and peeling wallpaper and in the center of the room stood a cage. The cage was like an old-fashioned bird cage. It was covered in layers and layers of dried blood, some fresher than others.

Then I saw a heart, like a living human heart, greying on the edges, locked in the cage. The heart had deep cuts and superficial scars and all sorts of wounds in various stages of healing and severity. It also had wings that had been cut back over and over, demented and without care.

And I saw a key unlock the door and the heart began to beat weakly and the wings shuddered to life. And the door fell open and the heart wanted to fly but wasn’t able to no matter how hard it tried, since it was weak and lacked spirit. But as I looked closer I saw the wings, and as they fluttered, I saw new growth baby feathers underneath the old.

Then I saw a hand reach in and gently take hold of the heart and pull it out, then cupping it with both hands. And one hand covered over the heart so that it was entirely encased and covered by the two hands. Then the heart was uncovered and it was made clean and the scars were healed and the feathers were all clean and grown out full. And the hands lifted the heart high as if to encourage it to fly. The wings fluttered and spread, in anticipation of flight and as if to stretch its long-unused muscles.

tara caribou | ©2018

12 Comments on “Vision of the Heart

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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